Many of you already know the story of our first baby Hope, and many of you were with us during that time, but for those that don't know the story, it's important to know for upcoming posts. We had our baby girl on June 5th 2002, she was stillborn. I didn't write the story about Hope until 2006 after Dayson was born, but before he was diagnosed. I'm so glad that I was able to write it down before having any worries about Dayson. It was also really good closure for me to put it all into words, and now I'm glad I did, because I can just copy and paste the story and not have to delve completely in again. Oh, and my amazing friend Suzy edited my story for me - find her
. Here it is....
I’ve wanted—needed—to write this
story for so long. I’m sharing it so everyone who reads it will know how
special my angel was. Chet and I had just celebrated our first anniversary
when we found out that we were pregnant. We were thrilled! What an exciting
time in our lives, our first baby! In the beginning of the pregnancy, we had it
so good, because I rarely got sick. There was the occasional nausea, but other
than that, things were off to a good start. I was in school that semester, and
Chet was working full-time. We had a cute little house with a bedroom set
aside for the nursery. We had not a worry in the world and excitedly looked
forward to finding out the sex of the baby.
Finally the day of the ultrasound
came; I was nineteen weeks along. I felt so anxious and excited lying there
looking at my husband as the doctor was about to start the ultrasound. But, as
soon as my baby’s image appeared on the screen I could tell it didn’t look
right. The untrained eye that I had couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but I
knew something wasn’t right.
The silence in the room was
suffocating. Our doctor didn’t say a word . . . just stared at the screen and
kept measuring things. Finally, he said that it was hard to see because I had
very little amniotic fluid but that he could tell that the tummy was a bit
large and the head was a bit small and he didn’t know why. He also couldn’t determine
the sex of the baby, a detail Chet and I had by then completely dismissed
from our minds—all we cared about at that point was the health of our first
child. Our doctor told us that we would need to have a level 2 ultrasound and
that he would schedule it for us. He came back and told us where our ultrasound
would be and that it would be one week away.
A week! It felt like a year. Chet and I tried to stay positive, and on our drive home we called our
families and asked them to include us and our baby in their fasts that coming
Sunday, which happened to be Fast Sunday. The night before the ultrasound, Chet, my dad, and my brothers gave me a blessing. The words that I so
desperately wanted to hear never came, but I did feel an overwhelming love from
everyone in the room that night. I knew that whatever was going to happen, I
had the love of my family to get me through.
The next day, as Chet and I
went to the office with the bigger and better machines, all I could think about
was finally getting our questions answered. The unknown felt unbearable. We entered
the ultrasound room. As I once again lay on the examination table, I felt so
nervous; but I also felt the assurance that everything would be fine. The
technician performing the ultrasound told us that two doctors would
watch the picture in another room and that they would come in and talk to us
after the ultrasound was finished. The technician then started the ultrasound.
We could see our baby one hundred times better on this screen! We saw the baby
swallow, we saw the four chambers of the heart, and we saw ten fingers and ten
toes. We also saw that the kidneys were five times too big; the lungs, if there
were any, were underdeveloped; and there was a gap in the skull where some
brain tissue had protruded.
I still thought that maybe some way
our baby would be okay; this nightmare didn’t seem possible. Tears began to
flow down my face. The technician left, and the two doctors came in to talk to
us. They told us that our baby had a rare genetic disorder called Meckel-Gruber
Syndrome. This particular syndrome causes a 100 percent mortality rate. In
other words, our baby was not going to make it. The doctors also said that the
baby could die while still inside the womb and if that happened there could be
serious complications to my health. They further told us that since this is an
inherited disorder, in every future pregnancy there would be a 25 percent
chance of the baby having the disorder.
I sat there, listening to
everything that the doctors told us, and I couldn’t stop crying—I even
apologized to them for my tears. They of course said, “We would be worried if
you weren’t crying.” They then took us to a room with a phone in it and told us
we could take as long as we needed and that we could call anyone we wanted. My
tears were still pouring. What was happening didn’t seem real, yet it hurt so
much.
Finally, we composed
ourselves somewhat, but I didn’t want to call anyone. So we left the office and
drove home in shock and disbelief. Our cell phones kept ringing—our families were
very anxious for the news—but we couldn’t bring ourselves to answer. I couldn’t
even talk without breaking down. When we got home, we just layed in
bed, holding each other and crying, until we finally decided to drive to my parents’
house. I had to speak to my mom in person; there was no way I could tell her
over the phone.
As soon as I saw my mom, I broke
down again. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t want it to be true, and telling my mom
that my baby wasn’t going to live made it real, too real. After I finally forced
the words out, my mom called my dad and he came home from work early. We called
our doctor and talked to him about our options. He is also LDS also and told
us to pray about our choices and then get back to him. My brother and
sister-in-law came over, and all we could do was sit together crying and
talking. After a while, Chet, my dad, and my brother gave me another
blessing, this one for the strength that I needed to get through this trial.
After a lot of prayer and
discussion with our doctor and our families, Chet and I decided that I
would deliver the baby when I reached twenty-four weeks. That meant I had four
weeks to prepare to have a baby that might live for a couple minutes but that
would most likely be stillborn. Those four weeks were extremely hard. Every
time I would lie down, I would feel the baby move. I could feel life in me and
couldn’t believe that it was about to be taken away from me. I tried hard not
to think about it. My family didn’t know what to do or how to act. I didn’t
know what to do or how to act. Everything still felt unreal.
After four weeks of carrying a baby
that wasn’t going to make it, my body was tired—but emotionally, I was even
more exhausted. When the appointed time arrived, my sister went with me to the
hospital. As we were waiting in the delivery room for my doctor, I talked to
her about baby names. I had a name book with me, and I couldn’t find any boy
names that I wanted. The only name I wanted was a girl name, so my sister told
me that the baby was probably a girl. My doctor came in and gave me a drug to
start labor and then sent me home for a good night’s sleep.
My husband and I went back at 4:30
the next morning, and the nurses hooked me up to an IV with patocine to speed
up contractions. At 11:15 p.m., after about eighteen hours of labor and after I had a seizure,
we finally had our baby girl. My husband was by my side, and my parents and
in-laws were waiting in the hall.
She was stillborn but absolutely
gorgeous. She weighed 1 pound 2 ½ ounces and was eleven inches long. She was so
sweet, and the Spirit in the room was very strong. I have never had such an
amazing experience as when the doctor placed her in my arms. An unconditional
love I had never felt before overwhelmed me. I knew at that moment that she was
way too sweet for this world. My parents and my husband’s parents each took a
turn holding her. The feeling in the room was so sweet that I’ll never forget
it. Chet and I decided to name her Hope.
The next morning the nurses brought
her in to me, and they had dressed her in a beautiful white dress and matching
bonnet that fit her perfectly. They also had a little pink blanket with her. I
later found a tag that said that Awhatukee 2nd Ward had made the dress and
blanket. How touched I was! I never would have thought to bring something to
the hospital for her to wear, and yet it meant more to me than words can
describe. The nurses also took pictures of her for me, something else I hadn’t
thought to do. The entire time I was in the hospital I felt complete peace and
love. Looking back, I know that it was Heavenly Father protecting me from any
sad emotion, so I could fully treasure the time I had with my baby Hope.
My memory of the next few days is
blurred. I do remember being at the graveside and my sister singing “I Know That
My Redeemer Lives”—I had specifically requested that song. I also remember
looking at my precious angel one last time and then leaving the cemetery. As I
left the cemetery, the grief of the situation hit me. I was going home with
empty arms because I had just buried my beautiful baby. I broke down.
The next few weeks are a blur too.
I just remember wanting to die so that I could be with my baby again. I knew that
I couldn’t kill myself if I wanted to see her again, so I would dream up ideas
like getting in a car accident but not having it be my fault. I wasn’t in
school anymore and I didn’t have a job, so I didn’t have a motivation to get out
of bed in the morning. So I didn’t. When my husband would come home, I would cry
to him and tell him that I was done with life. I wanted so badly to be done. I
longed to be with my angel. I couldn’t find a reason to live. The pain was all
I had, and I clung to it.
I wanted everyone to know how
special she was, so I would tell people—but they didn’t know what to say or how
to act. One day, however, a coworker of my husband sent us a card that expressed
the perfect thought. The card read “It’s hard to hear talk about peace and
angels and heaven when you’ve got a big hole where your heart used to be. So I
won’t do happy talk. I’ll only say I’m praying for you and I wish you didn’t
have to say good-bye.” After reading the card, I said, “This is all I want to
hear from people; this is exactly how I feel.”
I couldn’t pray for months. It
wasn’t that I was mad at Heavenly Father—I knew that He had done the right
thing, because I knew that she was too special for this world. But all I had
was the pain, so I didn’t want Him to take that away too. Finally, after a few
months of being depressed, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got down on my knees
and asked Heavenly Father to help me get through the pain. I needed help moving
on and knowing that it was okay to move on. I couldn’t do it alone. When I finally did ask for help, He enveloped me in love and peace. He gave me the knowledge that Hope wanted me to move on and that she was okay with me moving on. His love is so strong. I started praying for was strength to get out of bed in the morning—that
was the hardest part for me. After I started praying for help, when bad days
came, my husband or some family member would call and say the thing that I
needed to hear. Many of them never knew they were answers to my prayers.
I’m so blessed to have the husband
and the family that I have. They were the ones that Heavenly Father and my
angel Hope whispered to help me, and I came out of it because of them. Through
this experience I have come to truly understand the importance of family. I
have also come to value the knowledge the gospel provides that we are an
eternal family and that I will be with my baby again someday. I have also
gained a testimony of the power of prayer. Heavenly Father is always there for
us, waiting for us to ask for His help or comfort. He is waiting and wants to
comfort us. I consider this
experience to be the hardest trial in my life, but I also see it as a growing
experience and am so grateful for the love and lessons I have gained from it. I’m so blessed to be a part of something so
amazing and hope that sharing the story of my Hope will give hope to those in
need.
